


A Tragedy

by hpaufan (goodtea)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fate, Good Draco Malfoy, Unicorns, but his horcuxes didnt, dark mark mutilation, draco malfoy is on his own side, so harry needs help defeating him again, this is au, voldemort survived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodtea/pseuds/hpaufan
Summary: AU Harry and co. have destroyed Voldemort's horcruxes, but Voldemort survived the final battle. Harry is sent to go ask an all knowing mysterious being for help finding Voldemort's weakness so he can be defeated one last time. But the creature demands Harry answer one question first, and Harry doesn't know the answer. And what's so important about Draco Malfoy?





	A Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a one shot of a longer idea I had. If it gets any (positive!) attention I'll consider continuing and extending it. Otherwise I'm content to let it lie. Any reviews appreciated as this is my first work! T+ rating for one slightly bloody scene.

AU BITCHES

It started with a question.

“Draco Malfoy is a-?”

Harry stared. All this time, after how far he’d gone, and this was the question the fate of world rested on? 

“Do not fear,” the disembodied voice that knew all reassured, “if you answer incorrectly we will give you clues to stear you in the right direction until you answer correctly.”

This surprised Harry. “And I have infinite chances to answer correctly? No penalty for wrong answers?”

“Correct. We are sought after by those who seek the truth. Often, they do not realise they already know the answers they seek.”

“So if I answer your question correctly, you’ll answer mine? And I have infinite guesses to yours and you’ll even help point me in the right direction?” It sounded too good, too easy. The answer Harry wanted was crucial to saving everyone, to stopping Voldemort. And here this creature just wanted to know-

“We shall ask again. What is Draco Malfoy?”

Harry, perhaps unwisely, answered with the first thing he thought of, “A complete git.”

The flashback started.

\-----------------------------

An outstretched hand and a smirk. Eleven year old Malfoy looked as though he already knew Harry’s answer. “ _ I  _ can help you there.”

And Harry’s answer, “I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”

Gray eyes widened a miniscule amount and-

\-----------------------------

It ended as abruptly as it began. Harry gasped, suddenly in the present again, standing before the glowing morpheus being that knew all. He took a moment to reassure himself he was not actually eleven anymore and then looked up. 

“I take it my first guess was wrong, then?”

“Indeed,” the being hummed, “Did our clue help?”

Harry thought about it. What had the flashback shown about Malfoy? That he was manipulative? That his parents probably taught him to network from a young age? Why did it matter what Malfoy was anyway? He was evil, as far as Harry was concerned. 

Then the creature was asking again, “Draco Malfoy is-?”

“Evil.”

\-----------------------------

This memory went a bit further back, but only by a bit and this time Harry experienced it outside his body. He recognized the inside of Madam Malkin’s shop. He saw his eleven year old self first. Young Harry was still dressed in Dudley’s oversize hand-me-downs, everything baggy and dirty looking despite how clean Harry knew the clothes were. He’d been the one responsible for everyone’s laundry, afterall. 

Standing amongst witches and wizards in well-fitting robes, Harry’s muggle-ness stood out. So did his size, and Harry was a little surprised to note how small exactly he’d been. He was shorter than any witch or wizard present and shorter than any boy his age had any business being. His wrists were skeletal. 

His next shock came in spotting the boy getting fitted next to him. Young Draco Malfoy clean and impeccable looking and was somehow the same height and build as the half-starved Harry. And, when Draco didn’t think anyone was looking, he looked just as nervous. 

After a minute of watching Harry from the corner of his eye and no doubt noticing and cataloging the state and make of the disheveled boy’s clothes, Draco turned to face Harry properly, a determined look on his features. Draco opened his mouth to speak, words on the edge of his tonuge.   

\-----------------------------

Harry settled back to the present easier this time. Okay, so maybe the Malfoy git wasn’t exactly evil. It was kind of him to strike up a conversation when he was clearly nervous himself. What answer was the all-knowing being looking for? What had the memories had in common? Malfoy was nice?

Harry paused. It’d never occurred to him before, but it really was a wonder that Malfoy had chosen to strike up a conversation with Harry that day. His appearance had screamed “poor muggle born”. Weren’t Malfoys not supposed to associate themselves with that sort? And on the train he’d been manipulative, yes, but he’d also been attempting to offer his friendship in his own way, Harry supposed. Did the omnipotent being want Harry to say nice things about Draco?

It was too late to think on it more, the creature was already asking in its disembodied voice, “What is Draco Malfoy?”

Harry decided on a shot in the dark and so blurted, “Capable of kindness.”

\-----------------------------

Draco Malfoy was fourteen. Harry could tell because Harry had known Draco at fourteen and recognized that particular styling of his hair from fourth year. But it must have been after the end of the school year because Draco’s hair was longer then he’d ever seen it, for one, and for two Draco was noticeably standing inside Malfoy Manor. 

He stood with his father, having a hushed conversation in a large echoing room. Or perhaps it was a giant hallway, if the stone pillars were anything to go by. Harry drifted closer to catch the words being spoken by Lucius, picking up on a clipped and furious tone.

“-and you will show him utmost respect. I will not shield you should you decide to be defiant again.” Draco looked down, looking recently upset. Both Malfoys, Harry noted, were tense.

“I do not see-” Draco began “-why you follow that  _ creature _ . It goes against every value you’ve brought me up on.”

Harry heard the smack more than he saw it with how fast Lucius’ hand moved. Malfoy, Draco, barely moved as Lucius leaned in, bringing his face within inches of Draco’s. It was as Lucius began to speak that Draco finally flinched. “That man-” Lucius’ voice was so quiet Harry might have doubted he was speaking at all if he hadn’t leaned in to catch the words, “- _ is _ all the values I raised you on. You live for  _ his  _ purposes.”

\-----------------------------

Harry came back to the site of his own shoes greeting his gaze. That last clue had been no memory of Harry’s. He looked up at the creature. It answered him before he could voice his question. 

“We sensed you did not wish to view more memories of your own, so we offered you someone else’s.”

“Whose memory was that?” Harry asked as the creature shifted and glowed before him. It never held any shape for more than a second.

“Narcissa’s. She watched quietly from behind a column near the door. She watches most things with silence.”

Harry was intrigued, “Why give me her memory-”

“We know all. We have access to all,” the voices boasted. “All knowledge. Including all memories of all that ever was and is and will be. We will use whatever we must to guide you to your answer.”

Harry wasn’t sure that answered his query, but decided to leave it. What did it matter so long as he eventually answered the creature’s question correctly? He thought he was ready when it came again. 

“What is Draco Malfoy?”

“A pawn.”

\-----------------------------

There was a cold, skeletal hand running through long blond hair. Sharp, curved nails parted strands almost gently. Voldemort’s hand. Lucius knelt before him, head bowed as Tom Riddle stroked his pale locks. They were alone in what looked like a reading room. A fire burned quietly in the background, crackling on occasion. 

There was silence, then Riddle spoke, “It has been a long time, my servant.”

Lucius paused and tilted his head the slightest bit up, “Is a servant all I am to you, my lord?”

There was quiet as Riddle continued to stroke those long locks, his gaze lowering to meet Lucius’. “It has been a long time. You’ve spent almost a decade and a half without my presence. That is long enough to not be who you once were. And I am not as I once was, Lucius.”

Voldemort withdrew his hand, raising it to the light, inspecting it. “My body is changed. My soul is more broken then it ever has been. I fear parts of myself have been destroyed, forever. I’m crueler than I have been before. I can sense it, but I do not wish to stop myself.”

A pale, but thick and strong hand met Voldemort’s raised hand. In the firelight they contrasted, Riddle’s hand more like a claw than anything humanoid. Lucius rose to his feet, slowly, watching the Dark Lord. Holding onto the Dark Lord’s hand. He met the eyes of a monster and responded with only softness, a whisper much different from how he talked to his own son, “My loyalty has never been attached to the state of your body, or the state of your soul. If destruction is what you crave, I will destroy the world for you.” The monster with snake eyes remained silent and Lucius continued, “I have brought a son into the world for you. I accepted a marriage of convenience at your urging. Everything I have in my life, I have for you. And I would give it up, also for you.”

He brought their joined hands to his lips, and kissed them. His words were soft, patient. “I don’t follow you for your kindness, Tom.” He lowered their joined hands, still watching Riddle’s face. Harry had never heard Lucius sound soft before. Lucius lifted his other hand to gently touch the dark lord’s face and leaned down.

\-----------------------------

Harry blinked coming out of the memory. “Who did that belong to?” he asked.

“The manor itself,” came the reply. 

“What does that-how-you know what? I don’t care.” Harry decided now was not the time to contemplate the sentience of wizarding dwellings. Though it was certainly more pleasant than what else he had to contemplate. Had Lucius Malfoy? With Voldemort?

“How was that related to Draco?” Harry asked, but the being only glowed vaguely. It offered no reply. 

“Okay.” said Harry, as he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Are you ready for the question?” the creature asked. Harry wasn’t sure. Was he? This was getting more complicated than he’d thought. But then it was asking again.

“Draco Malfoy is-?”

Harry hesitated. What could he say? What direction was this new memory meant to point him in? “Property?”

\-----------------------------

Draco. After that last memory, Harry was almost relieved to see him again. Only this was Malfoy as Harry had never seen him. Alone in some hallway of the manor, Draco sat with a knife and a bottle of whiskey. Harry thought he might he fifteen. Draco took a long, loong swig of whiskey, put it down on the floor next to him with a solid thunk, and raised the knife firmly in his right hand. The sleeve of his left wrist was pulled back, the dark mark on full display. 

Harry watched in horror and had to remind himself that this had already happened, that he couldn’t stop it as the knife descended and Draco cut viciously into his own arm. Blood squirted out, staining Draco’s face and sleeves and shirt and the floor and carpet around him. Some even got on the wall he leaned against. Worse, Draco cried out in obvious pain, his voice choked and rough. 

Draco cried out and then took long, sobbing breaths as he wiggled the knife in his arm around, cutting through and across the mark. His whole body shuddered with pain. Harry figured Draco had to pass out from the pain or blood loss soon, but the inebriated teen kept cutting and hacking at his own flesh. Chunks of blood and skin and  _ flesh _ fell to the ground. Harry wondered if it was possible to throw up while he wasn’t even technically in his body.  

Then, mercifully, the memory faded. Only Harry wasn’t brought back to his body. A new image came into existence. Malfoy, his left arm bandaged and suspended above his head alongside his right in chains. Draco was in the Malfoy dungeons, and his father was speaking to him outside a set of bars. 

“-lucky your mother founded you when she did. If we hadn’t been able to salvage the mark not even death would have tempered the Lord’s wrath. How dare you insult him and the family name in this way? What excuses do you have this time?”

Draco looked barely cognizant, but nodded his head in his father’s direction anyway. His voice was a rasp when he answered, and Harry got the impression he had been screaming. “Just kill me,” his voice was breathy, “but you won’t, will you?” Draco opened his eyes and narrowed them at his father. “Not while I’m still useful to that  _ thing _ .”

Lucius maintained his displeased expression, not answering. The look on his face was disturbed a second later as Draco lunged suddenly and violently on the chains holding him to the wall, the tugging digging the metal into his wrists.

“WON’T YOU?” the youth shouted. The chains finally cut into the teen’s skin and blood spurted forth violently, running down Draco’s arms and dripping onto his face. “So long as I have this blood in my veins I’m useful. Well what if I spill it all? Have you thought of that, father? What will your monster do without his medicine?”

Lucius, towering and imposing over his chained son, looked shocked and scared. The patriarch took an involuntary step back. 

\-----------------------------

“What’s so special about Malfoy’s blood?” Harry practically shouted the question, adrenaline still running as he came out of the memory. But the all knowing being was not in the mood to answer questions.

“Draco Malfoy is a-?”

“I don’t know!”

\-----------------------------

A voice Harry was not expecting was speaking- slowly, clearly and calmly. The office was as warm and welcoming as Harry remembered it, with all its original nick nacks whirring and buzzing quietly. Albus Dumbledore sat across from a twelve year old Draco Malfoy. Both sipped tea. Draco nibbled at a biscuit as Dumbledore spoke. 

“A tragedy is called thus because there is nothing to be done about it. It is preordained by fate and completely inescapable. But the future does not need be a tragedy, young Mr. Malfoy. You can stop and change the future now with the choices you make.” 

Draco, who had been staring at his teacup, looked up. “I don’t want to be my father,” the young Malfoy spoke quietly and sounded, well, young Harry thought. Young Draco met Dumbledore’s eyes without hesitation. “But I don’t want to be one of your pawns either. I don’t believe the world’s problems can all be solved with love and kindness.”

The headmaster did not seem surprised. “You believe in necessary violence.” He sounded sad, but not judgemental.

“Isn’t all violence necessary?” the young Malfoy smirked. Albus simply peered at Malfoy’s expression at this, the twinkle in his eyes dimming just the slightest bit. 

“It is a sad day, indeed, when our youth can think thus.” Dumbledore seemed to be speaking to himself than Malfoy. He paused, “But you did not come to me to hear the sad musings of an old man.”

Malfoy nodded. “I wanted you to know. I’m not on your side. But I’m not my father, either. If talk I hear is accurate, it will be important in the future for you to know what side I’m on. And I’m telling you now, I’m on my own side.”

Here Dumbledore leaned in, curious. “And what talk are you hearing, if I may ask?”

Young Malfoy smirked. “The Dark Lord is returning.”

\-----------------------------

Harry didn’t know how much more of this he could stand. How much time had passed? How much time was he wasting trying to answer this question? And again, Harry wondered why it mattered what Draco Malfoy was, “What am I missing? What is Draco Malfoy supposed to be?”

“You already know.” Came the only reply, spoken in that eerie disembodied voice.

“I don’t!” Harry protested before he felt the now-familiar feeling of being tugged into yet another memory.

\-----------------------------

Luna Lovegood shivered alone in the Malfoy dungeons. Harry wondered if her usual cell mates were out being questioned. His attention snapped away from his musing, however, as a figure emerged from the darkness and approached the cell. Draco, looking as neat as he had on the first day of Hogwarts. Harry bristled. Even if this was only a memory, if he dared hurt Luna..

But then Draco elegantly sat, and Harry had a moment to wonder how anyone managed to make sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce look elegant, before he pulled a paper from his pocket and began reading with no preamble. Luna leaned in at the same time as Harry, and Harry was surprised to read  _ The Quibbler _ across the front of the paper. Draco was reading Luna’s father’s paper to her? Draco kept reading, seeming to pick articles at random in his steady smooth voice. Luna closed her eyes as she listened and only opened them again after Draco finished. She looked up, looking more focused than Harry had ever seen her as she gazed at Draco.

“Thank you,” her voice floated, too soft for such a cold place, “tell them ‘wrackspurts and winter blooms have one thing in common; they bloom at night and only under very specific conditions.’” 

Draco smiled as well, but somehow it only made him look tired, “And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what that means?” He sounded polite, but there was a warm note to his tone that Harry was not accustomed to.

Luna shook her head. “That’s for the Order to decode, not you.” 

Draco nodded, and there was something gentle in his tone when he next spoke, “I will pass it on. But there’d be no need it you let me-”

Luna cut him off. “No Draco. I am right where I need to be. And soon, so will you.”

Draco only shook his head, though still something soft Harry would not associate with the ice prince pervaded the movement. “As if that isn’t ominous. I hope you’re right about the Order, Luna. You don’t belong here. Only monsters belong here.”

\-----------------------------

Had Luna been communicating with the Order while she was held captive in Malfoy Manor? Harry supposed it was possible. He’d been too busy on a camping trip from hell to know what the Order did and didn’t know during that time. If they had been in contact with Luna though, Harry wished they’d informed her father. Would it have made a difference? Xenophilius Lovegood had already known that his daughter was being held captive by the Death Eaters when he betrayed Harry. Knowing she was doing okay likely wouldn’t have changed his actions. It didn’t matter now anyway. It was in the past and Harry still had a question to answer.

“What is Draco Malfoy?”

“Full of surprises.”

Harry was not surprised, however, when he was pulled into yet another memory.

\-----------------------------

Death Eaters. Everywhere in a small woodsy clearing, and they were already dissapperating. The clearing emptied one by one, whatever meeting that had taken place over, until one hooded figure remained. 

It tugged its hood down to reveal the striking face and hair of Draco Malfoy, though he looked more tired than Harry had ever seen him. Shadows ringed Draco’s eyes. There were moments of silence as Draco seemed to wait, listening to the forest around him. Harry couldn’t hear anything but the usual stirrings associated with birds and wood mice of the night. Draco seemed satisfied with the relative silence and a second later he transformed. An albino lynx stood in his place, blending well with the winter snow. 

Harry followed as it bounded along, the tug of the memory ensuring he wouldn’t fall behind. Soon the familiar shape of Hogwarts castle came into view. The lynx bounded past the front gates and into the castle. As it was already dark out, no one was around to pay it any mind. 

There was a scuffling sound ahead and Harry looked up to see Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom ducking between the suits of armour along the walls, an unconscious second-year Gryffindor between them. Neville was looking decidedly bulkier and taller than how Harry typically remembered him as. That made this seventh year, the one Harry had missed. The lynx also noticed the trio and crouched down, watching cautiously.

“Careful of his arm Ginny. I don’t know what the Carrows did to it, but we better not touch it until we can check our books on curses in the common room.” Neville muttered, to which Ginny replied, “I know, now shush! If we’re caught we’ll get a lot worse than just a bruised arm.”

But even as she spoke there came the sound of a pair of footsteps quickly approaching down the corridor. “I swear I heard voices this way,” came a voice that Harry vaguely connected to a seventh year Slytherin. Prefects, then?

“Shit!” Ginny swore under her breath. 

But then the lynx darted out from where it crouched along the wall, making Ginny and Neville jump in surprise as it raced past them, headed in the direction of the voice. Harry followed, tugged along. The cat ran straight towards the patrolling prefect as he came into view, earning a shout from the boy. The lynx jumped to the side at the shout, knocking into a suit of armour and managing to knock it over at the same time. The prefect cursed and glared, raising his wand to send a hex at the animal. The cat kept running as the hex missed and Harry dimly heard the prefect mutter, “Dumb oversize cat.” He thought he caught sight of the other prefect as he strolled up laughing to the first, but the edges of the memory tugged Harry along before he could be sure. 

Draco continued on his way, seeming to know where he was going. Had Draco just helped Ginny and Neville by distracting the prefect? If Draco was on his own side as he’d claimed in second year, what did the action say about his alliances? Harry expected the memory to end there, but he found himself still following as the cat raced across hallways and up stairs. Perhaps he should have expected it when Draco finally stopped outside the headmaster’s office. 

The stone gargoyle that stood guardian lept aside without a word from the voiceless cat. Draco stayed in cat form all the way up the stairs, until after he finally pushed the headmaster’s door open with his furry head. 

Then Draco was suddenly Draco again and he stood before a stern looking Severus Snape, out of breath and smiling. “I have a report, Headmaster. Harry Potter escaped and is alive.”

A look of relief passed over Snape’s features.

\-----------------------------

“Draco Malfoy is a-?”

“A blood-traitor. A spy.”

\-----------------------------

Harry was back in the Malfoy Dungeons. He wondered how much time Malfoy spent in his own dungeons. But this time, Malfoy was nowhere in sight. Instead, unicorn lay chained on the dungeon floor, bleeding out. Chains crossed its muzzle and looped around its legs and dug into its neck. The beast looked miserable and in pain. It lay on the dungeon floor hopelessly. Harry thought back to his first year, when Voldemort had used Quirrel to help him hunt down unicorns for the healing properties in their blood. He supposed the reincarnated Voldemort might still be dependent on the stuff, considering the state of his body. 

There was a clanking sound, and then Lucius Malfoy was standing at the dungeon door, a knife held delicately in his hand. “The lord has use of your services,” he spoke and his voice carried such a chill that Harry shivered. 

\-----------------------------

“What is-”

Thinking fast Harry blurted, “A bystander.”

\-----------------------------

After so many dark memories, Harry had to blink to adjust his eyes to the sudden sunlight. There was grass and hills and blue skies as far as he could see. The occasional flower dotted the landscape.

Draco, young, maybe five, also blinked sleepy eyes up at his mother as she stroked his delicate hairs. She gazed down at her son, pure love in her eyes. She smiled at her drowsy boy, but something in her face looked incredibly sad. “I’m sorry, my dear dragon.” her voice was incredibly soft, and carried a young note. Harry was shocked how normal she sounded, compared to the polite and icy tones he associated with her family. But then, Draco had carried a similar softness when he’d spoken to Luna. And Lucius had as well, with the Dark Lord.

“Whatever for, mother?” a sleepy Draco asked the question idley, barely paying any attention.

Narcissa did not look at her son, but at the middle ground in the distance, where the sky touched the hills as she replied. “For what is to come. Your father is blind in his devotion and I’m afraid of what magic he has worked on you. On us. Purebloods like the Malfoys and Blacks have always been at the center of conflict in the wizarding world. It’s not something that can be helped. A joke of fate.”

“Joke?” There was no way the half-asleep young Malfoy was following along the conversation. Harry suspected Draco had only prompted his mother to keep her talking, so he could keep listening to her voice as he drifted to sleep. 

“All the wealth and power in the world in exchange for being toys of destiny. Don’t let your father’s pureblood superiority get to you, my dragon. We are more slaves than the house elves we own.”

Draco might have prompted his mother again, but he was already asleep. Narcissa stroked his hair, softly, gently as she watched the horizon. It was unlikely her son would remember her words, but she hoped one day he would. The sun would set soon.

\-----------------------------

There was no need to wonder whose memory that had been. Harry ached for a mother that had somehow seen the darkness of the future coming, long before anyone else had. And she had seemed so certain that it was inescapable and she had mourned for her son.

“Draco Malfoy is-”

“Loved.”

\-----------------------------

Draco Malfoy, older again, entered his room at the manor and shut the door. Locked it. Leaned against it, eyes closed. His hair was longer again in this memory. Draco opened his eyes, aimed his wand at a fireplace wordlessly and a fire to burst forth in the hearth. Harry contemplated how useful that might have been during his extended camping trip. 

Draco undid his formal robes, leaving him the plainest dressed Harry had ever seen him. A white t shirt and loose black pants. Draco toed off his shoes, then his socks. Harry glanced down at Draco’s left arm and saw that although it had healed already almost seamlessly, if he squinted he could make out thin lines and patches. Scars where Draco had made his first cuts against the mark. It was sobering and gave Harry a reference for where in the timeline this memory stood.

Draco leaned on his dresser, watching himself wordlessly in his mirror. Harry had a moment to think ‘still a vain ponce’ before more lines like the ones on his arm started to fade into existence. Starting across Draco’s face, traveling over the bridge of his nose and going back down to his jaw on both sides, the scars took the distinct shape of chain links. More across his wrists and up his arms, wrapping around before fading. Even what showed of his feet under the hem of his pants carried a line or two. And lastly, the worst was his neck. The lines criss-crossed, deeper and more jumbled and smashed together than the rest. As if his neck had been stretched, longer and thicker when it had been injured. 

As Harry watched the last of the glamour die, Draco lifted his right arm to his neck. He touched his own scars, blank faced. No sorrow, no anger. Acceptance. As if he already saw them as inevitable. A fact of his life.

\-----------------------------

Harry’s next guess was incredulous. “A prisoner?”

\-----------------------------

Lucius Malfoy was young, younger than Harry had ever seen him. Perhaps just a few years younger than Narcissa had been in the memory of the field. He stood with a not-dead Tom Riddle at the edge of a wide balcony at Malfoy Manor. They passed a bottle of liquid back and forth. 

“So Narcissa is pregnant.” came the comment from Riddle, who looked so oddly  _ human  _ before his death. 

Lucius snorted. “Just carrying on my duty to continue the family name.” He raised the bottle and drunk deeply before passing it back. 

Riddle took a sip, “You’ll learn to love her. Love them both. Mother and child. It’s how these things go.”

Lucius turned to Tom, face serious even as his eyes glazed. “I could never love anything that is not of use to you. That is not yours.”

Riddle got a calculating look on his face as he passed the bottle back to Lucius. He watched the Malfoy head chug from it once again. 

“Is that so?” Riddle mused. The smile on his face was predatory, “I might know of a way to make the child of some use to me. A precaution, as it were, should anything ever happen to me and I lose my strength.”

Lucius finished his swig. He burped and stumbled and looked at the Dark Lord with love in his eyes. “Tell me. Anything for you. Anything.”

And Voldemort smiled with glee. “How would you like to add some extra magic to you bloodline? There is a spell you can perform once the child is born. It will seal his fate and ensure his usefulness to me should the time come.”

\-----------------------------

The memory ended before Harry got a chance to hear Lucius reply, but he supposed he already knew how the rest went. The question came again and Harry was ready. 

“Draco Malfoy is a-?”

“A tragedy. Draco Malfoy is a tragedy.” 

Harry half expected to be tugged into another memory, but wasn’t. Instead, the eerie voice of the being that knew all spoke, “And now your question. We know you seek for a weakness of Voldemort’s. A way to weaken and destroy this last version of him. Have you found it? Have we guided you to your answer?” 

Harry remembered the creature saying people often didn’t realise they already knew the answers to their questions. And Harry realised he had his answer. 

“Draco Malfoy.”


End file.
